


Kept

by purewanderlust



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, Gen, Samulet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 22:20:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purewanderlust/pseuds/purewanderlust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean cursed and pulled his hand out of the duffle to inspect the dot of blood welling under his fingernail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kept

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be fix-it fic, but it kind of went angsty. I may write a companion piece to remedy this.

It was two weeks after Osiris tried to kill Dean. Two weeks since they had dealt with anything supernatural. They’d holed up in a motel with a baffling nautical theme, in Buttcrack, Montana, population: Winchesters.

Dean’s nerves were stretched to near the breaking point. There’d been no more news of the Leviathan, and the only person he’d talked to in the last three days was his brother. The TV only played three snowy channels and the beds didn’t even have Magic Fingers. They’d only left the room for food runs and the faded blue wallpaper was starting to suffocate him.

Sam was in the shower when Dean decided he couldn’t take it anymore. He shoved his boots on and started hunting for a jacket. After finding a three covered in mud or dried blood, it occurred to him that he was in desperate need of clean laundry.

Not to be deterred, Dean dragged Sam’s duffle out from under the foot of his bed. He’d only been rummaging for a few moments when something sharp jabbed his finger.

Dean cursed and pulled his hand out of the duffle to inspect the dot of blood welling under his fingernail.

“What the hell?” he mumbled to himself. He went back to digging in the bag, this time with careful intent.

It only took him a few moments to find it, and this time when his fingers connected with the cold metal, he knew what it was. He pulled the amulet out of the bag and stared at the little brass face.

Sam kept it. Somehow, through hell and back, soul or no, Sam had held on it. A rush of conflicting emotions washed over Dean. Anger, guilt, regret, sorrow. The shower shut off and Dean hurried to re-stow the amulet.

He swung around with a jacket in his hands just as Sam appeared in the doorway, towel around his waist.

“What are you doing in my bag?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

“Needed a jacket, Montana’s too damn cold,” Dean answered hastily, “We really need to do laundry,” he added.

“You feeling alright, Dean?” Sam asked, studying his brother’s face.

“Dude, I’m just sick of this stupid room. I need some air.” Sam continued to look at him doubtfully, so Dean strode across the room and threw open the door. “Don’t wait up.” He walked out and slammed the door on a thoroughly bewildered Sam.

He needed a drink.


End file.
